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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29485803">Missed Call</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentz123/pseuds/agentz123'>agentz123</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Duck Twin Week 2021 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Anger, Angst, Astronomy, Coping, Dad! Donald, Della Duck Needs a Hug, Donald Duck Needs a Hug, Duck Twin Week, Duck Twin Week (Disney), Duck Twin Week 2021 (Disney), Duck Twins, Dumbella &amp; Donna &amp; Dello, Family, Fluff, Gen, Grief, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced ichthyophobia, Implied/Referenced miscarriage, Inspired By S1’s “Escape to/from Atlantis!”, Parent Della Duck, Photos, Scrooge McDuck Has Feelings, She’s Trying Her Best, Takes Place During S2’s “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!”, These Ducks Need Therapy, Twin Bond, Water, Water is Wet?, absolutely not, blast to the past, reflections, voices</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:28:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,564</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29485803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentz123/pseuds/agentz123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Della finds her old phone.</p><p>Duck Twin Week 2021, Day 2 - Photos (Della)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Della Duck &amp; Dewey Duck &amp; Huey Duck &amp; Louie Duck, Della Duck &amp; Donald Duck, Della Duck &amp; Scrooge McDuck, Dewey Duck &amp; Donald Duck &amp; Huey Duck &amp; Louie Duck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Duck Twin Week 2021 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Missed Call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Della grinned to herself as she shut the boys’ bedroom door behind her. Her first bedtime story to her kids was an absolute success. She recalled their trembles and whimpers of excitement as she tucked them in. Rebel had even asked for her to keep the light on so they could plan out their own future conquests. </p><p>
  <em>“Just don’t stay up TOO late, alright?”</em>
</p><p>She was totally nailing this mom thing. </p><p>As all of the adrenaline from finally arriving home and seeing her family suddenly drained, Della dragged her feet down the hall to her old bedroom that Mrs. B had so graciously dusted upon her arrival. Della turned the knob, her muscles recalling what an ACTUAL mattress felt like...</p><p>“Oh, cool! My old Penck!” </p><p>She remembered that one adventure in Kyolko where Donald had accidentally slipped in a puddle of wasabi and knocked her phone into the lake surrounding the Kinkaku-ji Temple. He had replaced it with this rarity as an apology (of course, only after annoyingly setting the Lock Screen to an infuriating scene from that annoying fish movie that had come out earlier that year). </p><p>Her exhaustion forgotten, Della bounded over to her desk, snatched up the device, and flipped open the top, quickly meeting her marred reflection. The phone snapped shut, not allowing Della enough time to wonder if the damage was simply from the screen...or the moon. </p><p>“Maybe I should clean myself up first,” she whispered.</p>
<hr/><p>Water. </p><p>Wet. </p><p>Water is wet? </p><p>The last storm Della had faced was not wet. Rather it was electrifying, burning, flashing. </p><p>Crashing. </p><p>Terrifying.</p><p>Isolating.</p><p>When was the last time she saw water? Actually touched it, experienced it?</p><p>She allowed the shower head to flow into her gaping beak and swished the liquid around her teeth, her tongue jostling the droplets on her palate. She laughed slightly at the despair of how, from the moon, the ocean was just out of reach. </p><p>She had set the majority of her ripped clothing by the fireplace so that it could be burned. The only article she kept was her scarf, which she washed by hand in the sink, just as she always did. She took her time scrubbing out the moon dust and letting the water slip through her fingers. While doing so, her feathers kept floating into her line of vision, begging for attention. </p><p>“I need a haircut.”</p><p>But her barber wasn’t here. He was on some stupid cruise instead of just being here with her. No matter. She reached for the pocketknife she had removed for her parachute pants before disposal and whipped out the sharpest blade, the metal vibrating violently in her palm. </p><p>Has her hands always shook this much? They did as she knocked on the ajar door of Scrooge McDuck’s study. </p><p>“Uncle Scrooge?” </p><p>The miser jumped away from his paperwork and his face scrunched up in confusion upon seeing the source of the sound. “Ah, lass! Still a sight for sore eyes. I still cannae believe that yer here! Yer actually here…” After a long moment, Scrooge rubbed his bleary face and stood to meet his long-lost niece.  “So what cannae do fa ye?”</p><p>“Can you give me a haircut? Like you used to when you were too cheap to take me and Don to the salon?” </p><p>“I am NOT cheap,” he growled, taking his niece by the shoulders and plunking her into a chair. He went around to his desk and pulled out a large pair of shears. </p><p>“You, on several occasions if I may add, re-enacted some of my favorite films because their tapes broke.”</p><p>“That is not cheap. It was innovative.”</p><p>“You reduced them to petroleum to put it your car.”</p><p>“Are ye gonnae continue chattering or are ye gonnae  stay still?”</p><p>Scrooge worked slowly, delicately, wringing out every last drop of time he had with her. Once he had finally finished sniping away, he again went behind his desk and unearthed a worn ash-grey headband. </p><p>“And it’s not being cheap. It’s being smart. Smarter than the smarties—“</p><p>“Tougher than the toughies, and sharper than the sharpies,” Della finished with him, accepting the accessory and sliding it behind her temples. “Whatever, old man. I’ll see you in the morning?”</p><p>“That ye will lass,” Scrooge whispered warmly.  “That ye will.”</p><p>Enough distractions. Back to the phone. Because nothing can stop Della Duck! </p><p>Right? </p><p>She curled up on her bed and shut her eyes as she held down the power button. She gasped as the boot-up sound coughed in her ears. “I’m surprised this bad boy still turns on! Let’s see here...200 plus messages?!” </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><br/>
<b>March 15, 2007</b></p>
</div><p>
    <b>Donnie Boy: <em>11 missed calls</em></b>
  </p><p>Della shuddered as she recognized the date. “Oh, boy.”</p><p><b>Donnie Boy: WHERE ARE YOU??,,????<br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>6 missed calls</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: ANSWER YOUR PHINE<br/>
Donnie Boy: DELLA THELMA DUCK I SWEAR IF YOU DONT ANSWER YOUR PHONE</b> </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><b>March 16, 2007</b><br/>
</p>
</div><p>
  <b>Donnie Boy: <em>1 missed call</em></b>
</p><p>Della finally gathered the courage to open her leaking voicemail box. No doubt Donald would be lurking in there, shouting loud enough to burst her eardrums. Not that the yelling wouldn’t be well-deserved…</p><p>Instead of screams, there were muddled sniffles. A throat being cleared. Teeth grinding. Whatever room he was in, Della could feel the thick clouds tension slink through the receiver and wrap around her lungs, suffocating her. </p><p>
  <b>“How could you do this?”</b>
</p><p>There was the sound of something smashing. </p><p>
  <b>“How could—how could—D-d-d…!”</b>
</p><p>Della’s chest tightened as she heard the quacks of frustration her brother made at his inability to get the words out. She wasn’t sure who ended the voicemail. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
  <b>April 2, 2007</b>
</p>
</div><p>
  <b>Donnie Boy: <em>3 missed calls</em></b>
</p><p>
  <b>“Yeah this is dumb. Why on earth would I be talking to a dea- someone who isn’t here anymore? I doubt you even remembered to pay your phone bill. It’s not like you remembered anything like that.”</b>
</p><p>Della counted nineteen heartbeats within his pause.</p><p>
  <b>”I miss reminding you.”</b>
</p><p>39 more. </p><p><b>“This is really dumb,”</b> he repeated quietly. <b>“You know you four are the only ones I talk to now, right? But...I’m going to change that. I’m going to therapy. That’s dumb too, I know. But I need help. I’ve needed help. For a long time. My meltdowns are getting more and more frequent and I don’t want the boys to see me like that when they get here. They need something...good. Something not like me.”</b></p><p>“Oh, Donald…”</p><p>
  <b>“Wow. I can still tell you anything. Even when I’m pissed as phooey at you.”</b>
</p><p>”I know. I’m pissed as phooey at me, too. I’m sorry, Donald. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, boys. I’m sorry, Scrooge. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”</p><p>
  <b>“I still love you. Is that dumb?”</b>
</p><p>Her breath hitched as she realized Donald had waited, leaving room for her to respond. But she couldn’t give him a straight answer. Why the heck was he STILL asking her for advice? On what was stupid or not, no less?</p><p>The next message came thirteen days later. Della felt a ghost of a smile leave a cool breeze on her face. How fitting. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <b>April 15, 2007</b>
  </p>
</div><p>
  <b>Donnie Boy: <em>1 missed call</em></b>
</p><p>
  <b>“The boys hatched today. Jet came first, and then Turbo, and Rebel. Rebel took so long, Della....I was afraid he was going to end up like...aw, phooey. You know who. But they are so very beautiful. They all have your eyes, even brighter than the stars.”</b>
</p><p>There was a sickening gagging sound.</p><p>
  <b>“Annnnnd now I have to change my shirt. Okay, Della. Bye. We love you.”</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>
Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em></b>
</p><p>Della let out a soft squeal as she opened up the downloads to an electronic flip book of the three eggs hatching. Her eyes twinkled as she gazed at the stuttered eruptions, her heart beating with the fierce excitement and anxiety of being a part of that moment. She allowed herself to skyrocket not towards the moon, but rather backwards in time to a reality in which she did not board the Spear of Selene. In doing so she ran her fingers over her babies’ down, which were still sticky with the freshness of the earth.  </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><b>April 16, 2007</b><br/>
</p>
</div><b>Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em><br/>Donnie Boy: <em>sent attachment</em></b><p>Although the voicemails had stopped, years and years and years’ worth of photos and eventually videos of varying quality and sizes and filters and orientations filled Della’s inbox. They always came in sets of at least three, the reds and blues and greens bleeding together as she scrolled for miles, watching her boys grow up. Watching them go out for sports, win spelling bees, pull pranks. </p><p>When she finally tore herself away from the screen, hours had zoomed past. “I can’t believe he did this…<em>I have to talk to him right now!”</em></p><p>Della clanked down the stairs to a functional telephone that sat in the main foyer. Once again, her fingers trembled as she dialed him. Even after all of this time, the Duckburg-specific area code and numbers were still etched into her memory. </p><p>Donald did not pick up.</p>
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